Damien’s POV
The sound of glass shattering against the wall was therapeutic in a twisted, yet sickening way. Each crash, each explosion of crystal and porcelain, felt like releasing a tiny bit of the rage burning through my veins like acid.
I'd started in the living room; the expensive vases my father had collected were gone. The decorative mirrors that cost more than most people's cars, smashed. The antique furniture Aria had so carefully selected for the mansion was overturned.
But I was careful. Methodically careful. Because even in my fury, even in my complete mental breakdown, some part of my brain was screaming: Not the study. Don't touch anything in the study. The security system. The verification checks. The forty billion dollars.
So I destroyed everything else instead.
I w
